Patience
by Nolavera
Summary: Syndre Lavellan doesn't like to waste time. So when Leliana and Josephine want to play dress up before Celene's ball, she's not best pleased. Maybe Solas' presence will help her through the ordeal.


The inquisitor stood on a raised stone dais in the middle of her rooms, arms crossed over her chest and foot tapping a frustrated, staccato rhythm against the pedestal. It was an action her Keeper would have reprimanded her, such petulance was seen to be childish. But Syndre found she didn't much care. The dark glare that she used to scan the women milling about her chambers like headless Deep Stalkers actually caused one particularly shy creature to wither and scuttle away.

Ordinarily, the elf would have felt bad for scaring the unfortunate girl but her poor spirits allowed for nothing more than a derisive snort. It really was unfair of her to turn her indignation upon the maids that waited on her, she supposed, they had done nothing to earn her scorn. These women were only following their orders in an effort to make their way in an uncertain world. Narrowed green eyes fell upon the two women who had stormed her quarters without so much as a by your leave and a convoy of maids carrying more fine fabric than even the Empress herself could ever possibly make use of.

Truly, it was better to lay blame at the door of those to whom is belonged.

Josephine was sitting at the large mahogany desk that dominated one corner of the room whilst Leliana perched daintily on the dark wood next to her. Josie had neatly stacked the maps and documents that normally lay strewn across the surface in one corner of the desk whilst her own clipboard rested by her elbow. Leliana meanwhile had her back to Syndre but she could see that both of them had their heads bent low together over square swatches of fabric.

Judging from the way the Antivan's brows were knitted, their well-loved ambassador took the task of picking fabrics as seriously as her usual diplomatic duties. Syndre could tell from the speed at which the ambassador's lips moved that the two were in some conflict about a particular sample. However, the coy smile that Leliana threw the other woman spoke volumes about how much her advisors were actually enjoying themselves.

_Girls._

The soft snort that accompanied that thought did not go unnoticed by the diplomat. The Antivan's hazel gaze fell upon the irate elf, who still stood with her arms crossed though the aggravated tapping had stopped. Syndre's singular raised eyebrow did little more than elicit a wide grin from Josephine, the smile splitting the Antivan's full mouth.

Syndre knew full well she wasn't going to be able to cow either of her advisors so instead the elf turned her attentions to getting this horrendous experience over and done with as quickly as possible. She searched the seemingly endless sea of maids looking for the tailor.

The seamstress was an older woman, rubenesque in stature and shrewd beneath heavy brows. She rather came across as a women that no one would want to cross. Still, she directed the other maids with an ease that spoke of experience and her voice was softer than Syndre would have imagined. It was clear from the tone that she cared for her girls.

Her manner reminded Syndre of her Clan's resident storyteller Nerahel. Who had regaled the clan's children with tales of Arlathan and Elven heroes but had brokered no mischief from them. Stern but kind, a true nurturer. A small smile stole across the inquisitor's lips at the thought of old Elf. She had been one of the few people in her clan that had treated Syndre with open affection.

A sharp click dragged the Inquisitor from her thoughts. Her eyes fell upon the tailor, who was busy packing her tools away neatly into a bag. Surely that meant she was finished with her?

"Are we finished here?" She enquired of the severe looking woman.

"If the ladies Montilyet and Nightingale have made their selections then yes."

A groan bubbled low in the Inquisitor's throat at the answer.

They were going to be here until the spring snows melted on the mountain peaks.

Seeing as the tailor was at least finished with her personally, however, she stepped down from the dais. It was a tricky thing considering the long underskirt she wore. The fabric of the skirt was thin, flirted prettily along the stone floor, and presented the elf with more of a tripping hazard than she would have preferred. She longed for the manoeuvrability and familiar comfort of her leathers. The elf had no idea why women would willingly choose to wear such flimsy and yet oddly restricting garments. The corset that they had insisted she be laced into was an experience akin to torture in the Dalish's mind. The boned garment was impossibly tight, and whilst it gave her a more feminine shape than what she normally boasted it certainly wasn't worth giving up the ability to breathe. And move. Did she mention breathe?

How anyone expected her to last an entire ball whilst wearing it was beyond her comprehension. She could only imagine how respectable an impression the mighty Inquisition would leave when the Herald herself passed out in front of the Empress, with nothing to ail her other than a properly laced corset. The Inquisition would be laughed out of Orlais.

Josephine and Leliana ignored her as she brushed past them, the women too enthralled in what they were doing to notice her moving to stand in the doorway behind them. It led to the room's largest balcony and the light breeze flowing through was welcome as the Elf realised just how hot the chamber she had been standing in before was. Syndre supposed she had the hustle and bustle to thank for that. Her rooms rarely saw such activity.

The ancient stonework of the fortress was solid beneath her exposed flesh as she leaned against the doorway and her eyes followed the women that moved about her quarters.

The majority of them were in the summer of their youth, who perhaps here seeking husbands from among the order's ranks. Some among them boasted the Chantry's colours, the red a standout shade among the neutral tones of the others. They were a jovial lot with smiles and mirth that seemed almost out of place within the dour castle. But despite their merriment, there was a few amongst them that carried an obvious tension, a tightness around the eyes and mouth that fear had etched into their skin. It was something she recognised, related to, and it seemed to linger on all of those who had been present at Haven when Corypheus had first marched down upon them.

Syndre's eyes fell closed as one temple came to rest upon the stone. She hoped this visit to the Winter Palace would prove a fruitful as they all hoped. It was imperative the Empress survive whatever was to come. If the great Empire of Orlais and all her chevaliers couldn't hope to stand against Corypheus then the rest of Thedas stood to lose faith…and a great deal many lives.

Inhaling deeply did little to still the Inquisitor's twisting stomach and only truly served to highlight the resistance that met her ribs. Her previous annoyance with two thirds of her advisors returned with a biting vengeance. The two women were still bent over swatches of fabric. Someone might have thought they were statues given how little they had moved in the time they had been in her chambers. The elf eyed the square of cloth that they both studied and wondered briefly if the displeasure of their spymaster outweighed the inevitable satisfaction she would get from setting the textile alight.

Her magic did not flow, however. The Inquisitor might have been irritated with being dressed up like a child's toy but she knew that it wasn't without purpose. These women had spent many years in the Orlesian court and they knew how to play the "Grand Game" with a degree of finesse the elf could never hope to emulate. Syndre needed them if she was to have any hope of allying the Inquisition with Orlais.

Truthfully, the Dalish felt that she was wasting valuable time having to attend this Empress' ball. However the royal house refused to heed their letters and ignored their fervent warnings. Clearly, the Inquisition had no choice but to dance to the Orlesian's tune. The desire of the Orlesian count to pussyfoot around instead of directly addressing problems was absurd, and baffled the elf.

The world was falling down around their flat ears and they seemed to want to do nothing to stop it.

However, if this was what it was going to take to gain the support of the Empire then she would let Leliana and Josephine lace her into as many ridiculous garments as was required.

That didn't mean that she would complain about it though.

"So are we done here? She drawled, drawing the attention of her advisors. "Our esteemed tailor tells me that you intend to keep me prisoner until you both come to some decision."

Both women looked at her and remained silent with looks of intense concentration carved into their faces. The elf raised an eyebrow.

A sharp looked passed between the two advisors as they both turned away from her without answering the question and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "definitely not the red."

Syndre fought the urge to groan again.

"I think the dark blue would be best. Or perhaps the green. It will bring out her eyes." Josephine murmured, turning to scribble on her on her board, as the Ambassador was wont to do.

"Yes. I agree. Long sleeved and cut somewhat low in the front. Silver accents are probably most suitable, I think" Leliana nodded vigorously. "Have both made and we can decide which will best suit on the night. Oh! And shoes…"

Syndre rolled her eyes at the redhead's enthusiasm, although there was no true malice in her reaction. Their Spymaster was normally very self-contained. She had even heard some of the people in Skyhold refer to Leliana as cold, this side of the bard was refreshing to witness. What would they think if they could see her girlish enthusiasm now?

"There is one more thing we need to consider, Inquisitor." Leliana said, turning to her. "Who do you intend to take to the Winter Palace with you?"

"Honestly, I thought it was best to discuss it with you and Josie first. You both know who the court will respond to better than me."

"If I may, Inquisitor?" Josephine looked up from her writing. "Take those who would best represent the Inquisition. This is an opportunity for us to show that we are not some upstart movement seeking to usurp the Chantry in its moment of weakness. They have to see that we are the best hope for protecting Thedas against Corypheus."

"Oh?" The elf smirked "Shall I take Sera then? I'm sure those old mustard stains would win her approval from the nobility."

"Provided, of course, that they kept hold of the breeches long enough to care." Leliana added nonchalantly.

The Antivan winced as though the very thought was physically painful and the subsequent pleading look the woman sent their way made the elf laugh softly.

"I'm kidding Jose" She smiled, watching with interest as the tension her jibe had caused almost visibly melted from the woman's body. A wry smile hovered about the corner of Leliana's mouth as she too watched at her old friend.

"I think Dorian is a good bet." Syndre said, getting back to business. "He is nobility and I can't imagine that manoeuvring amongst the Orlesian court would be any worse than what he had to deal with in Tevinter."

"So Dorian, then?" Josephine said writing it down. "Taking two or three people is probably best, and of course Leliana, Cullen and I will also be there. That should be enough to keep track of anything of interest."

"What about Vivienne?" Leliana suggested.

Syndre shook her head, struggling not to bristle at the mention of the older mage.

"I know she spent many years in Celene's court but I don't know that she wouldn't use this as an opportunity to strengthen her own position. No, I want people I can trust at my back. "

Leliana just nodded and looked thoughtful.

"Cassandra is also nobility, royalty even. She is also the right hand of the Divine. By taking Cassandra, you would be showing who stands at the Inquisition's side."

The elf grinned at the thought, just imagining the Seeker's displeasure. If nothing else, it would be someone else who hated being there as much as Syndre did.

Maybe they could even get her to wear a dress.

"You can tell her then." Syndre said to the redhead, smirking.

The women worked their way through their companions, dismissing some as being unsuitable to take.

"I would really rather not find out how the Chevaliers would take to having a Qunari in their midst." Syndre said when they got down to the last few. "Which leaves Solas and Varric as our last options.

Logically, Varric was the better option of the two. After all, Varric could charm the wool off of a sheep and the dwarf had influential connections within the Merchant's Guild. He would be able to handle the Nobles of Orlais with no problem.

Oh, he'd hate every single moment of it but he could do it.

Solas, on the other hand, was an apostate elf and an introverted one at that. He was hardly a suitable choice. However the thought of Solas dressed up in formal wear made Syndre's stomach flutter.

Her internal argument was cut short by the bard.

"Solas would likely make the nobility uneasy…but that may be something we can use to our advantage. He should be able to monitor anything of interest without any interference from the lords, they are unlikely to pay much attention to an elf. He may even be able to liaison with the servants." Leliana offered. "The nobles would be drawn to Varric like bees to honey. His books are well loved in Orlais, especially among the noblewomen."

Syndre nodded. The Bard made some excellent points.

A firm knock sounded at door before opening to admit the elf in question.

Solas stopped short when he spotted Leliana and Josephine and the man cast a questioning glance at the other women who wandered around the room, organising fabric bolts into those that were to be used and those that weren't.

He had probably expected to catch her alone.

"Forgive me Inquisitor, I was not aware you were occupied." He said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I shall return later."

Syndre waved him off.

"Actually, your timing is excellent." She smiled, pushing up from the stone. "We were discussing the arrangements for the Empress' peace talks."

Syndre walked over to the man, throwing him a winning smile. She would have fluttered her eyelashes too but she figured that might be overkill.

"I was hoping you'd come with us."

Solas inclined his head.

"Of course, Inquisitor."

Syndre waved over the tailor and explained the situation, flashing a small smile to Elf.

If he was uncomfortable at the thought of standing for the woman, he gave no indication of it. He accepted it with a grace that Syndre herself hadn't.

He considered her silently before sighing softy and allowing himself to be directed over to the dais. One of the tailor's helpers approached him warily, obviously ill at ease with being so close to an apostate. On closer inspection, she noticed it was the same girl that she had fled from her earlier.

Not a lover of mages then.

She could hardly blame the girl for her caution given the current turmoil between the rebel mages and Templars. The political climate hardly lent itself to acceptance and harmony.

Syndre also noticed the obvious disapproval the tailor had for the girl's carefulness, not entirely hidden under her heavy brows, as she returned to her previous position in the balcony doorway.

Her eyes fell upon the man who was allowing himself to be moved and posed in order for the tailor to do her work. Solas stood straight on the raised platform in front of the mirror that Josephine had brought into her room as the woman flitted about him, looking perfectly as ease with the situation.

Voices reached her ears but she paid them little attention as she watched Solas. It was likely Leliana and Josephine arguing about fabrics again, now that they had opportunity to play dress up with Solas, Dorian and Cassandra as well.

Solas was tall for one her kind, with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and long legs. He wasn't as lithe as the other elves she had grown up with but he was still leaner than any human. Despite being no warrior his body possessed a quite strength that his status as a mage might have seemed at odds with. Clearly his wanderings in the wild had kept his physique in good condition.

Her eyes greedily followed the lines of his body, taking time to drink him in. It wasn't a luxury she was often afforded, given their hectic lifestyle.

As her eyes drew up the lines of his back, green eyes met blue in the mirror over Solas' shoulder. He had clearly noticed her appraisal of him and although his face was impassive and gave no hint as to what he thought of her blatant staring his eyes held hers intently in the glass. Heat stole across her cheeks despite the breeze and she broke contact first as her gaze fell to the floor.

The Inquisitor was suddenly very aware of how little she wore as she rubbed absently at the gooseflesh along her bare arms.

Syndre spent the rest of the time the seamstress worked with her eyes glued to the floor, mapping the hairline cracks and warping of the flagstones in more detail than anyone would ever need. The wind cooling her flesh and stirring her skirts had become uncomfortable but she refused to move into the room.

The only thing that drew her attention from the floor was the scraping of her heavy wooden chain across it as Josephine stood. The tailor was finished with Solas, who stood watching her from the pedestal. His measurements had taken considerably less time than her own.

"These are the selections for everyone who will be attending the Winter Palace. The ambassador smiled, handing the piece of paper she had been scribbling on to one of the maids "I will check in with you mistress later in the week to see how things progress."

"Of course, milady." The girl curtseyed.

"I believe we've taken enough of your time, Inquisitor." The Antivan said to Syndre. Bowing slightly, she ushered the women from the room. Leliana glanced meaningfully between Solas and the Inquisitor before inclining her head and taking her own leave.

The sudden silence of the room was deafening as the door shut solidly behind the Spymaster but Syndre was grateful the ordeal was over. Changing into her own clothes was going to blissful. The elf could practically smell the familiar scent of her leathers.

But first, Solas.

"You needed me for something, Solas?" She asked the man who stood patiently, hands once again clasped behind his back. He had stepped down from the platform at some point when Josephine and her entourage had been in the process of leaving.

"I believe I have found the possible location of another Elven artefact. I was hoping we might retrieve it."

Syndre nodded and rubbed gently at her left palm. It wasn't a priority but she knew as surely as the mark on her hand that elven artefacts could be dangerous. It was best not to let anymore fall into the hands of blighted Tevinter magistrates.

"Just mark it on the map and we'll go as soon as we get an opportunity."

Solas dipped his head in thanks.

The deafening silence suddenly felt thick, as the two elves stood facing one another.

Blue eyes searched hers for a moment as the quiet stretched on. Syndre fought the urge to fidget under the gaze.

If he wanted to say something, however, he decided against it.

"I will allow you to return to your duties."

As Solas headed to her door, Syndre turned her attention to getting out of her corset and underdress and into her leathers, which were in total disarray across her bed. But not before throwing one lingering glance at the man over her shoulder.

An unpleasant thought struck her as she reached for her shirt.

_Shit._

She twisted her arms up behind her at a seemingly impossible angle but it did little. The laces of the corset were too well tied for her to undo them with her fumbling, her mounting frustration had made her fingers clumsy. Thick curls feel lose from the tie confining them as she ran a hand through her hair, twisting a fist in the auburn locks.

Syndre had no way to undo the corset she was wearing

There was no way she could go down to the main hall and ask for help. She had an image to maintain as Inquisitor, as a leader. She couldn't compromise that. She returned to tugging at the laces once more but it was futile and she couldn't risk using her magic, it would likely do more damage than good.

It left her with little choice. She was going to have to cut the laces. The small blade she used as a letter opener would probably do the trick. It was hardly the best solution but it would have to do.

Just as she moved to turn, a gentle hand stilled her by wrapping around her wrist.

The panic that threatened to bloom in her chest died before it had even truly flared to life as Solas' voice came from behind her.

"If I may be of some assistance?" He asked, letting go of her wrist and reaching for the laces.

The bobbing of her tresses was probably the only thing he could see of the small nod she gave. Her throat felt too tight to allow for her voice to pass through and she fought to stifle a blush as his hands went to work on the laces that confined her. She suddenly felt very hot.

Solas' hands were steady as they worked the ties and she undulated back towards slightly him with every tug.

Her muscles tingled with the urge to fidget, so Syndre closed her eyes and took a deep breath. In doing so the elf took in a lungful of Solas' scent. Leather bound books and earth. It did little more than strengthen the fluttering in the base of her stomach.

Neither of them said anything. The only sounds in the room were those of the wind blowing through the balcony door and the scraping of the satin laces through the corset loops.

Syndre would be surprised if he couldn't hear the pounding of her heart against her ribs.

She had been so intent on the soft swaying movement that Solas had created that she almost bolted when his hand slid around her waist to rest just below her breasts. The back of the corset fell open and the cool air danced along the fevered skin of her back. His hand was the only thing keeping the boned garment against her. Solas pushed forward and the jawbone necklace he favoured pressed into her flesh as the ribbed material of his shirt met her back.

The upper half of his body curled over her. He felt like he was everywhere – his hands on her body, his scent in her nose and his warmth…Gods he was so warm. His presence behind her was so overwhelming that it threatened to steal the very breath from her tortured lungs.

The soft skin of his lips ghosted along the length of one pointed ear as his breath danced across her cheek. She shuddered against him.

If he couldn't hear the furious rhythm of her heart then he would certainly be able feel it beneath his hand.

"You would try any man's patience, Vhenan." Solas murmured in her ear, voice deeper and rougher than she had ever heard it. It was entirely at odds with the soft lilt he usually boasted and the timbre hit her like a flaming arrow to the gut.

And with that he was gone, bare feet making no sound on the flagstones.

The corset just about stayed against her front as her hand snapped up to replace Solas' and although she suddenly found it easier to drag in air, the skin of her back felt bereft without his presence.

The loss of his heat seared her flesh.

The elf collapsed on the soft mattress of her bed with her flushed face buried in the silken sheets. The textile felt rough against her sensitised skin but it was not an unwelcome sensation.

Gradually the Inquisitors breathing returned to normal and her skin lost its warmth. Sitting up, she turned her attention to the heavy wooden door that lead to the main hall. It was only then that something occurred to her.

_What had Solas come back for?_


End file.
